


Move

by bushlaboo



Series: Arrow Goes to the Movies [11]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Angst and Humor, F/M, First Meetings, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Torture, Inspired by a Movie, Minor Violence, On the Run, Romance, Science Fiction, UST, Visions, powers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-20
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2018-08-23 15:48:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8333371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bushlaboo/pseuds/bushlaboo
Summary: Push inspired AU. When people with psychic abilities are discovered governments around the world setup agencies to handle and secretly experiment on these enhanced individuals, one such agency is ARGUS. They're testing a powers boosting drug, Mirakuru, which will allow them to build the most powerful psychic army in the world. The only thing standing in their way is the vision of world’s most powerful Watcher who set in place the means to allow her daughter to foil their plan over a decade ago.





	1. The Lotus

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! Welcome to my _Arrow_ -ified _Push_ inspired world. I am going to be doing something a little different with this movie inspired AU. It is both frightening and exciting but I think the fluidity of what can and will happen leans really well to this little experiment. Either I will crash and burn, HARD, or this will work out as I hope.
> 
> If you’ve read [Ipso Facto](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8186945), the fic I am co-writing with the lovely and talented (and marginally evil) [AlexiaBlackbriar13](http://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexiaBlackbriar13/pseuds/AlexiaBlackbriar13) you know we’ve been writing IF in rounds together sort of by the seat of our pants. I plan on taking a similar approach with this AU, basically I’ll be writing this in smaller chunk installments and posting as I go along. Meaning I will actually have an in progress fic happening again. This totally _terrifies_ me. It has been **_YEARS_** , probably close to a decade, since I’ve done that (and I guess IF sort of counts in that vein but having a partner in crime helps with that – it is not my burden alone).
> 
> Okay enough babbling, and stalling, on with the show …

Excerpt from the _1947 Advanced Homo Sapiens Report_ :

**Terminology of Abilities**

_Watchers_ : Individuals with precognitive abilities, in layman’s terms they can see the future. Initial testing has proven indisputably that outside variables can affect the foreseen vision of the future. Best results have been recorded when subjects document their vision through the means of drawing what they’ve seen. It is theorized that because of the number of unknown variables that affect the course of all things that a Watcher will never accurately foresee anything over a week in advance. SEE PRACTICAL APPLICATION OF ABILITY.

_Movers_ : Individuals with the ability to move objects, the term telekinetic established by parapsychologist J.B. Rhine has been associated with this ability. Based on air fluctuation recorded in subject testing and the input of Dr. Oppenheimer it is theorized that atomic frequencies may be involved with implications of movement happening at the molecular level. Further study is needed to confirm this hypothesis. SEE PRACTICAL APPLICATION OF ABILITY; SEE PROPOSED ADDITIONAL TESTING.

_Pushers_ : Individuals who can implant thoughts, emotions, and even whole memories into the minds of others. In limited testing Pushers have been able to insert thoughts into as many as 3 subjects at a time. The duration of the implant has lasted as long as 72 hours. It is theorized that depending on the strength of the Pusher that the number affected and duration could be much longer, with the possibility of permanent duration. **Caution** : These individuals are deemed highly dangerous. Further testing must be conducted with the threat they pose in mind. ADDITIONAL SECTIONS CLASSIFIED.

_Bleeders_ : Individuals who emit auditory vibrations. These vibrations with prolonged exposure can cause rupturing of blood vessels, to both the Bleeder and those within hearing range of the vibration. It is theorized that if the vibration is emitted long enough it could become lethal. Until there is a way to prevent self-damage to the Bleeder this cannot be determined. SEE PRACTICAL APPLICATION OF ABILITY; SEE PROPOSED ADDITIONAL TESTING.

_Sniffs_ : Individuals able to track the location of people and objects. Initial tests indicate that with tactile access to an object that's been in direct contact with what is being searched for a Sniff’s effectivity is dramatically increased. It is theorized that Sniffs may be able to detect things up to hundreds if not thousands of miles away. SEE PRACTICAL APPLICATION OF ABILITY; SEE PROPOSED ADDITIONAL TESTING.

_Shifters_ : Individuals that can temporarily alter the appearance of object. Initial testing has concluded that objects must be roughly the same dimensions otherwise the shift will not work. Shifts are not permanent and there is not enough data yet to theorize if they ever could be. Duration of the shift has been linked back to the overall ability of the Shifter. The stronger the Shifter the longer the shift lasts. Longest Recorded Shift (Current): 17 hours, 25 minutes, and 13 seconds. SEE PRACTICAL APPLICATION OF ABILITY; SEE PROPOSED ADDITIONAL TESTING.

_Wipers_ : Individuals that can temporarily erase memories. In limited testing Wipers have been able to remove up to a year of a subject’s memory, with return of it taking from 5 to 36 hours. It is theorized that Wipers could permanently erase memories. **Caution** : These individuals are deemed highly dangerous. Further testing must be conducted with the threat they pose in mind. ADDITIONAL SECTIONS CLASSIFIED.

_Shadows_ : Individuals able to mask both people and objects from detection from Sniffs and initial testing indicates temporarily from Watchers. SEE PRACTICAL APPLICATION OF ABILITY; SEE PROPOSED ADDITIONAL TESTING.

_Stitches_ : Individuals able to induce rapid healing. Testing proves that reconstruction happens at the cellular level. Slides show cells having been reconstructed back to a healthy state. It is theorized that cells could alternatively be deconstructed. SEE PRACTICAL APPLICATION OF ABILITY; SEE PROPOSED ADDITIONAL TESTING.

* * *

 

Felicity was four years old the first time she understood that what she was seeing wasn't the product of an overactive imagination, but rather some tangible future. A possibility that could come true, become reality, if things progressed in the established order.

She was five when she realized she could affect that order and change what she had seen.

At age six she saw the lotus for the first time. A perfect white bloom being gently spun by a thin fingered hand before being offered to another. Felicity saw this image countless times throughout her life. Having seen the peaceful moment so often it had become certainty in her mind – it would happen, _eventually_. It was also frustrating because the vision had only expanded slightly over the years. Just enough to see a rough, weathered hand reach out to take the lotus. Cool, pale aquamarine painted fingers touching warm, thick callused ones causing a zing of connection and overwhelming sense of belonging.

For as many times as she saw those hands, for a comforting as the repetitive vision was - particularly after ARGUS snatched up her mother - the when of the moment had never become clear to Felicity. Even the night before, when she’d been painting her nails the color she’d seen so often, it hadn’t seemed like the moment was finally at hand. The aquamarine paint had become habit; cycling through every fifth time she did her nails. Her way of trying to force the moment? She wasn’t certain, but for as much as she _knew_ it would happen, after eleven years of seeing it she stopped expecting the moment to come to fruition.

Her day started like many had before, waking with the bitter taste of a vision permeating her mind. Reaching for her pens she noted that it had been a particular nasty visualization that ended with her and an unknown companion dead. Seeing her own horrible death was not new. It happened for the first time when she was eight while she’d been playing at the park two blocks down from their temporary home. It had been the day ARGUS took her mother and it was the vision of her own slit throat accompanied by her mother’s painful lament that kept her from racing straight home. Instead she’d watched from a safe distance as ARGUS captured her mother … not that a serene, handcuffed Donna Smoak being steered out of their shitty apartment complex could be considered the normal ARGUS takedown. They had to have at least suspected something was wrong she remembered thinking, but the agents appeared too pleased with themselves to even consider that her mother had allowed them to apprehend her. That she had in fact warned her daughter two days prior not to come ploughing towards her if she was wearing her favorite dress – a tight, royal blue number spotted with tiny pink polka dots. “Just walk by me baby, as if I was a stranger,” she’d whispered putting her to bed.

Felicity had promised and in doing so she’d been left mostly on her own to survive in the world. People would appear sometimes with messages of encouragement or instructions from her mother. Months and years later, which according ARGUS wasn’t possible, she was still getting directives from Donna. Her mother was the best and obviously had a plan. That fact comforted Felicity when little else could. Alone in the world, chasing visions through bottles of booze and ducking ARGUS wasn’t a life. Not one anyone should have to live, but through the uncertainty and the despair that surround her she had hope. ARGUS hadn’t been able to strip that from her, even if they had Shadows on her mother full-time. She may have only managed to get a vision of Donna a handful of times, but her mother had seen so far and Felicity trusted that she hadn’t been left to her own devices and sporadic help for no good reason.

She had faith. Even if her most recent vision told a tale that said she should feel otherwise.

Pen scratched against paper as she furiously drew what she’d seen to better understand and interrupt it. Though she’d been drawing her visions for years Felicity had never perfected the craft, her illustrations were still childlike – her choice of bright, neon colors not helping to elevate the look of them. Her choice of artistic tools matched her hair; her long, wavy blonde tresses had streaks of pink, purple and deep emerald green running throughout.

Her mother had been color; bright, bold color unafraid to standout against the dull monotone wash of the world. Her hair, the bright colors of her nails, her trademark color wheel stripe leggings were all reminders of Donna Smoak. A reminder that while not there physically, her mother was always with her.

Felicity huffed in frustration as she took in her drawings. The crude lines she’d put to paper did not do justice to the Adonis she’d seen. A strong scruff lined jaw, with sharp cheekbones and fathomless blue eyes that were the capping beauty to a lengthy, defined muscular form. If the tight, distressed t-shirt was any indication his abs had abs.

Not a useful observation, Felicity reminded herself. Closing her eyes she focused on the other details about him – his clothing had been dark (charcoal t-shirt under a hunter green hoodie, black jeans and work boots), everything showed age but appeared well-tended. His movement had seemed purposeful but tense, his muscles coiled as if ready for a fight at any moment, and his gaze always on the move assessing his surroundings. Head on swivel, the Army term the first of her mother’s helpers instilled in her sprang to mind.

She had been walking behind him, not seeing him from behind, but actually there with him and he’d been careful to keep her covered. He was protecting her. But why? Felicity wondered. That hadn’t been a part of her vision. The two rough and tumble looking Bleeders and the malevolent brunette directing them had been though – their lethal intent had been clear, along with their success. Again, she wondered why.

Opening her eyes Felicity considered the nearly empty bottle of Wild Turkey that was sitting on the wobbly bedside table. The scarred tabletop was probably the nicest thing about the crumbling room in the rent by the hour establishment she’d spent the last three days taking refuge in. She’d prefer to start her morning with the strong, slightly bitter hit of caffeine instead of a burning chug of booze.

Deciding to give herself ten minutes to see more she steeled herself to face the icy water that flowed in the battered shower attached to her room. Felicity had counted six missing tiles to go along with three chipped and twelve cracked ones when she’d first inspected her transitory lodging. If she was unable to expound upon her vision, she’d hit the whiskey, though she decided either way her visioning went any morning that started with the foretelling of her own death earned her a sweet, frothy caffeinated concoction instead of her typical straight black selection.

You had live sometime after all.

* * *

 

The pain was excruciating, a fire burning through him, one that inundated every molecule of every cell in his body with white hot agony. His muscles knotted, his lungs seized and his mind blanked on everything but the current coursing through him. As his body seceded control of itself he couldn’t even tell _who_ he was let alone recall how he wound up in this harrowing predicament.

When the fiery surge suddenly stopped there a moment of brilliant relief as in its absence his muscles went lax. He was finally able to suck much needed air into his lungs; however, the harsh draw of oxygen into his body had pain echoing through him. The physical ache swamped him, triggering the memory of the only thing that had ever hurt worse – a grief he’d spent years burying, but stripped of the emotional walls he built around himself he could only fall into the memory unable to tell the difference between the panicked beating of his heart he felt then versus the nebulous present.

… … …

… …

…

Two pair of feet padded quickly against carpeted floor, nearly soundless, but not quiet enough to avoid detection. His trembling hand was tucked in the firm, warm hold of his father’s larger one as he was tugged through the hotel’s nondescript hallway. His father’s long legs ate up the distance and he found himself nearly tripping as he raced on his toes, never able to put his foot down solidly on the ground in an effort to keep up. He was vaguely aware of the maid they passed shuffling supplies on her cart as they raced towards their room.

He was just coming to stop, panting as he tried to catch his breath, when his father yanked him into the room and _moved_ the door closed behind them with a violent bang. The pull on his arm hurt, but he didn’t dare protest. It wasn’t usual for his father to haul him around uncaring of inflicting injury. It was only when ARGUS was close – when they were in danger – that his blue eyes got hard, his stance tense and his words short.

“Oliver,” he snapped drawing his attention from where his father’s hand was grasped tight around his skinny arm. His kind, strong boned face was craggy with exhaustion and worry. They’d been running for so long. “ _Son_ ,” he said softening his voice, bringing up his hands to cup his face. “I need you to listen to me. This is the most important thing I’m ever going to tell you. You have to remember. Okay Oliver?”

Tears stung his eyes, but he nodded his head, his soft-skinned cheeks rubbing against his father’s rough palms. A hint of smile touched his father’s lips. Though he didn’t say it Oliver could hear the message behind the way his look gentled, ‘good boy’ it spoke. “Someday a girl is going to give you a flower. You got that?” his father asked as apprehension laced his voice. “A flower,” he repeated.

Oliver mouthed the word ‘flower’ as something beyond his hearing alerted his father. His hands fell from his face as he threw one up to _move_ the doors to the adjoining room open. “You have to help her,” he ordered. “Helping her helps us all.”

His father must have read the confusion on his face because he hunched down before him. “I know this doesn’t make sense right now, but I believe the woman who told me that and I need you to believe me. Can you do that?”

“Yes,” his answer came out low, but fierce. Tears stained their matching cerulean eyes but they grinned at each other. “I love you, dad.”

“I’ve always said you were special son. Turns out I was right,” he said proudly, ruffling his hair.

Muffled noises from the hallway broke the moment, returning the cold look to his father’s face. “ARGUS is here. You have to keep moving,” his father commanded as he ushered him towards the doorway he opened. “Move and don’t make any decisions a Watcher can track.” Those were the last words his father spoke to him before he _pushed_ him through to the other room, slamming the doors between them, cutting him off from ARGUS’s men and what transpired next.

Using the sounds of the door exploding into pieces between two opposite forces and the grunts of confrontation to masks his escape Oliver did as directed, he moved, running from the room and ducking down the hallway into small crawl space. Eyes wide with fears, wheezing for air, he watched a lithe African American woman in a tailored suit and spiky heels stride down the hallway and into their room. An eerie quiet descended after her entrance, followed by a _movement_ burst, before shots sounded.

“What a waste,” the woman said with a flat voice as she stepped out of the room sweeping drywall dust from her dark jacket. Over her shoulder she barked, “Bring his body to the lab.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I have no update schedule planned for this so we’ll all be surprised together when it happens. Sorry. 
> 
> 2\. There will be some ambiguity about things … have they happened or is it just a vision of what could happen. For those of you who have seen the movie events will probably jump back and forth, but the goal is by the end of this tale to have no uncertainty about where things stand. If it actually works out that way is yet to be determined. 
> 
> 3\. If anyone is as scared as I am about all of that I completely understand. Feel free to hide from this one until it is completed or I give up my mad attempt.


	2. Coney Island

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Mover met Pusher.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for my vague description of Coney Island. I've never actual been.

The world around him was neon lights, the tang of salt air, and peals of laughter as the crowd moved up and down the boardwalk. The roar of the Cyclone drifted down the aging landscape clashing with the sounds of the surf, muffling the pedestrian traffic noise as Oliver watched his one and only friend – something he spent years avoiding, because having a connection meant having something to lose – slink through the mass of humanity picking pockets as he went.

Tommy Merlyn’s slim form traversed the throng gracefully, his nimble fingers lifting wallets undetected. In his hands dice rattled as Oliver practiced _moving_ them with a barely discernible tell. They’d use the money Tommy pinched tonight to hit up a few of the dice games in an effort to double, potentially triple, their funds. They had been squirreling away the money they’d been making running various cons on the visitors to the historic amusement park with the plan of moving on to some place new. Some place better come autumn.

Oliver hadn’t thought to find a friend – _a brother_ – he had, in fact, avoided any attachment beyond the occasional one night stand he’d starting having at sixteen. That had all begun to change eight months ago when he tripped up a thief who tried to make off the measly collection of ones and a five he had in his wallet. The jovial pickpocket had _pushed_ the idea that Oliver had handed over his ill-gotten gains willingly. It had been the first and last time that Tommy, as he so affably introduced himself, over sodas he’d purchased for them with Oliver’s money.

It had been the ebony haired man’s suggestion to team up, to use their gifts in conjunction to make a better profit. It was supposed to be a temporary deal, but they had ended up hitting it off. They bonded as Tommy taught him to recognize the feel of being _pushed_ and he shared the hand-to-hand fighting skills he picked up along the way. Oliver never wanted to be reliant on anything but himself and that included relying too much on his ability.

That slowly began to change the longer and he Tommy ran together. They kept making excuses to prolong their collaboration. As the sweltering summer heat took hold of New York City – Oliver found it was easier to get lost and evade ARGUS in an urban environment, turning the inhabitants belligerent, they escaped to the shore. To Coney Island. To days spent on the beach and nights on the boardwalk, munching on corn dogs and buying ice cream for pretty girls, and of course their cons and the dice games.

Oliver caught Tommy’s wrapping it up nod and jumped down from his perch on the railing. He strolled down the boardwalk, slipping into the amusement park, silently making his way - keeping to the shadows as had become his norm - to their favorite place. To the patch of flattened out, hard earth under the famous roller coaster where the whip of wind made by the cars racing by beat over them. All thoughts got lost in the noise of the wooden coaster at work.

He dug the miniature bottles of vodka he’d pilfered earlier out of the pockets of his thinning cargo pants. In the relative moment of quiet offered as riders disembarked and new passengers shuffled excitedly onto the landmark Oliver idly thought he’d have to replace them soon. He set half of the bottles aside for Tommy and twisted off the cap of his first and took a quick drag of the burning liquor.

“Starting without me?” Tommy harangued good-naturedly as he slipped in as the Cyclone began to twist and groan above them, screeches of glee ringing out. With a flick of his wrist one of the small bottles sailed up and Tommy reached out with a chuckle to palm it. Oliver tipped his open bottle towards his friend in toast before downing the contents. Tommy saluted back before twisting open his vodka and chugging it. He released a brisk, “Aha!” after emptying the bottle’s contents.

“How’d we do?” Oliver inquired.

Tommy emptied his pockets, letting wallets rain down on the ground, before he dropped down beside him. “Let’s find out.” They examined their booty, removing cash and destroying credit cards with the flame from a Bic lighter – it was green with the image of a pickle and the word scrawled on it, which Tommy found hilarious for some reason – so when they tossed the remains of the wallets some enterprising douchebag couldn’t use them. They might be thieves, but they had standards.

Between them they counted $546 dollars and pocketed a couple of transit passes. Chinking their next round together they plotted how to handle the dice game in the morning. Oliver knew he had to be careful with how often he won, by chance or by power. Too much winning and he’d be suspect, but going on a prolonged dive could bankrupt them. So they strategized, joked and drank.

Popping open their last bottles Tommy waggled his eyebrows, “I got a fiery redhead waiting on me. Mind sacrificing $46 bucks to ensure I get lucky?”

Oliver couldn’t stop the bark of laughter that escaped him. He threw his head back, delighting in Tommy’s devil-may-care attitude and the salacious glint in his blue eyes. “She’s got a leggy friend if you’re interested.”

“Thanks, but no thanks,” he answered counting out the sum his friend requested before pocketing the rest. They had rule about funds, namely how much they carried on them, and women after blowing close to a grand showing a pair of heart stopping brunettes a good time back in New York City.

“She seemed … flexible,” Tommy said suggestively, trying to talk him into a night of debauchery. Indulging in a night on the town with his compatriot was always fun, but if he wanted to be coherent for the game tomorrow Oliver knew he had stop with the vodka they had already imbibed.

“You’re my best friend but –”

“Aw, you’re mine too buddy,” he said cheerfully throwing his arm around him, “and you protest too much. Still without your pretty mug,” Tommy tapped his jaw playfully with a fist, “around I may be able to sell them on sharing me.”

“Good luck with that _buddy_ ,” Oliver replied handing over the roll of bills to Tommy. “Just don’t go straining something. I’m going to need you in the morning.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Tommy answered with a hoot as he clambered to his feet. “I’ll see you in the morning Ollie,” he said using the horrible nickname he bestowed on him their second week of friendship as he patted him on the shoulder.

After Tommy left Oliver leaned back on the ground, resting his head in his hands, watching the lights and feeling the vibrations of the coaster throughout his body. He rested there, happily laxed with his mind blessedly blank, for the next hour as the alcohol washed through his system.

He exited the park among the thinning crowd and finding the cheap motel room he shared with Tommy empty he figured his friend had managed to go home with at least one of the ladies he’d been intent on entertaining that evening. In the morning Oliver didn’t think anything of it when he woke alone. Tommy missing their usual breakfast was rare, but not completely unheard of, especially given his distraction. It wasn’t until he reached the narrow back alley where the Saturday game was held and didn’t see his partner that he started to wonder. Still Oliver played as planned, using three hundred and walking away up a little over two hundred. He did cut his playing time short because the lack of Tommy’s presence had begun to make his neck itch.

It wasn’t until he checked their room, their usual boardwalk haunts, and finally their spot under the coaster that he accepted the possibility that he’d been dropped by his best friend. The alternative, the idea he couldn’t stomach thinking was that ARGUS had managed to identify and scoop Tommy up.

He waited a day, hidden but with purchased eyes on their usual places, and then another so he could check but he found no telltale signs of ARGUS and heard no rumblings of their presence. Still Tommy bolting on him didn’t feel right. On the third day, with still no word from Tommy, Oliver faded into the shadows; moving forward as his father had insisted, hoping that his friend was merely a jackass who’d left him without a word and not under the thumb of the agency that had murdered his family.


	3. Healing Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bleeders and a Stitch in a pair of killer heels make an appearance.

They were in the bustling outdoor market a few blocks from the city’s thriving port just as her vision directed them to be. From a distance she eyed her prey as they walked unknowingly into the trap that had been set for them. The man looked exasperated with the younger woman, walking away from her, the picture there wasn’t clear to Helena. _Yet_.

She knew the rangy Mover would intersect with the raven-haired man her father was after, but she had not seen how. That of course irked her father and he made sure that she felt the sting of his dissatisfaction. As Watcher born to a family of Bleeders, and not just any family but the Bertinelli crime family, she should have been prized. She had a unique and valuable skill, but so often her father had been unimpressed with her abilities. It didn’t matter how far into the future she’d seen or how much detail she could provide him, it was never enough for Frank Bertinelli. He wanted more, he wanted it all, and that is why the man ARGUS was pursuing and the case he protected was so damn important. The power it would give to its finder was what her father craved – and if she was the one to deliver it to him, perhaps the approval he always denied her would finally be granted.

The petite blonde faltered suddenly, stopping dead and drawing the full attention of her unwilling companion. The tiny Watcher had finally detected their presence, but it was too late, Helena had already seen this, allowing the Bertinellis to come prepared. As they closed in she heard a husky voice ask, “How does it end?”

“I have no idea,” the other Watcher confided, her apprehension laced tone making Helena grin. She was still wearing the predatory smile, her blue eyes gleaming with future knowledge when they cut the duo off.

“Where is he?” her father growled as his two most trusted men edged in on their prey. The handsome stranger pushed the blonde back and widened his stance, attempting to shield the other Watcher. He was a fine male specimen, just over six feet of compact muscles with a defined jawline covered in scruff. Helena had the idle thought that getting her hands on him would be delicious before her attention fell on the girl. Their silence forced her father to snap, “My daughter has already seen you with him.”

The Mover bristled. “How many times am I going to have to say this today? I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“We’ll see about that,” her father spat, signaling his men. Though they could use their abilities to bring their adversaries to their knees Frank Bertinelli’s favorite solider, Nick Salvati, liked to use his hands where he could. He enjoyed the violence and the sound of bone crunching underneath his knuckles. Nick leapt forward aiming for hoodie clad man’s face, but the Mover countered at the last moment, dodging out of the way with speed and skill. Missing his target, Nick let out an “oof,”as a fist slammed into his stomach.

“Run,” the Mover ordered his companion, as Paul entered the fray. The colorful blonde spun on her heels and right into Helena’s path. “Silly child,” she scolded. Helena delighted in the way light blue eyes went wide. She reached out and curled a loose strand of hair from the other woman’s ponytail around her finger.

Helena leaned in closer and whispered over the thuds of the fighting taking place behind them, “I’ve already seen how you die.”

The taunt made her pale and release a slight gasp. Helena thought for a moment that the younger woman would fold, but her spine straighten unexpectedly, and fear tinged eyes met hers, flashing with determination. “Not here. Not today,” she countered.

Before more could be said between them a breathy, “Felicity,” sounded and the blonde hair slipped from between her fingers as the other Watcher was yanked away and down the stall lined street as a loud screech filled the air.

People hunched, clapping their hands over their ears, as glass began to shatter around the market. There were intermittent releases of high pitches as Nick and Paul gave chase. Helena watched as the unlikely pair fell under the powerful shrieks of her father’s men. She rather enjoyed watching them writhe in pain as she slowly made her way towards their twisting forms, but as she got closer the Watcher was _pushed_ well beyond the effective zone of the Bleeders attacking them by the attractive Mover. His ocean blue eyes bulged as every vein in his body pulsed as they neared bursting point.

Helena saw his death, and with it the man and the case disappeared into the vapor of an unknowable future. “Stop,” she shouted. Her ordered was obeyed, but she got hard questioning glares from the men. “Kill him and my father loses the case.”

“You better be right,” Nick snarled wiping blood from his lip. He turned back to the man who’d gotten the better of him and viciously kicked him the ribs, threatening, “We’re not through!”

 

* * *

 

Felicity’s ears were still ringing as she stumbled around the dilapidated section of the city known as the Glades. She hadn’t bothered to fix her askew ponytail and every few blocks she stopped, wobbling slightly as her balance was still thrown off from her exposure to the Bleeders, to lift her hand to her forehead while she concentrated on finding Oliver. The short visions she had of him were brutal, fuzzy images of pain and blinding white. The last time Felicity stopped she heard the click of heels, but it wasn’t much of an addition to her vision. Certainly not enough to identify where exactly he’d been taken or by whom.

Her already stressed and overtaxed system kept getting hit with waves of fresh discomfort every time she looked for Oliver making it more difficult to concentrate, which in turn made getting a solid lead challenging. All Felicity was certain of was after years of being on her own she wasn’t about to lose Oliver Queen a few hours into their acquaintance and not just because the future around the mysterious dark haired stranger and his case got murky and decidedly darker without him. Even though Oliver had be slightly rude and dismissive, there was some compelling about the gruff quasi-stranger. And the way he’d stood between her and Bleeders, making himself a human wall of protection … in the moment, while being annoyed because she wasn’t some helpless teenager, she had also felt safe and cared for the first time years. Felicity wasn’t willing to give that up. Not again, not after the last time she experienced feeling that way had been shortly before ARGUS stole her mother away.

For the second time that day she considered booze, but Felicity wasn’t entirely certain that introducing alcohol at this point would be would be conducive. If she wasn’t able to find Oliver within her next few attempts she’d cave to the desperate, in the meantime she paused in the middle of sidewalk, not caring about the grumbling of the people around her as she took a deep breath and searched him out.

She heard a rattling, it squeaked with high pitches in a rhythmic manner. It was mechanical in nature. By the sound of it, Felicity figured it to be a piece of machinery struggling. Opening her eyes she hooked a left at next block and faltered along pass three more streets before the sound caught her attention. It was there, muted some by the music wafting out of a laundromat. Inside the storefront everything gleamed white and silver. Hesitantly, Felicity stepped into building and the elderly Asian man behind the counter paid her no mind, even as she followed the familiar sound to a doorway covered by a beaded curtain.

Felicity ran her hand over them, the see-through plastic beads clicked together and scattered the light in little starburst. As her hand trailed along the curtain she followed the path of her turquoise nails to a shelf along the wall that held a pearlescent vase containing a single, perfect white lotus.

Her breath caught as she lightly stroked the tips of the soft petals. Her fingers trembled as she clasped them around the stem and pulled the flower from the vase. Felicity brought the lotus to her chest and let it rest against her heart as she took a fortifying breath. She knew this flower and some small part about what was going to take place next after seeing it for so many years. Her fingers hadn’t brushed against Oliver’s yet, she had only felt the heat of his palm seep through the material of shirt on her forearm when he had pulled her away from the creepy Watcher earlier, but already Felicity could feel the tingling sensation his touch had inspired in her vision coursing through her body.

Stepping into the next room she found him face down on a narrow metal table, its edge digging into his cheek as his head lolled to the side, his eyes barely open as he struggled to breathe. Standing over him at his feet was a middle-aged brunette, her shoulder length hair was impeccably coifed. Her bright red lips matched her high heels, her legs were encased in back-seam hosiery and she wore a perfectly pressed navy skirt suit with a crisp white blouse. “You must be Felicity Smoak,” she said in greeting. Her voice had a slight accent that highlighted the woman’s inherent aloofness.

Instead of returning the salutation Felicity tensed, her eyes drifting nervously from the woman to Oliver and back again. When the stranger closed in on Oliver she snapped, “Stay away from him!”

The woman held up her leather glad hands, “Your mother sent me.”

Felicity huffed with disbelief. “Yeah, when?”

“A week before ARGUS procured her,” she replied drily. “She told me when, where and paid for my services,” she explained as she began to tug off her gloves.

Her nails were shaped expertly and painted a shiny gunmetal grey. “You’re a Stitch.”

“You’re a smart little girl,” she sneered tossing her gloves down on the table. 

“I may be short but I am no more a girl then you are an old lady,” Felicity fired back. 

A malicious smile spread across her face, “Fair enough. It’s Ruvé. Ruvé Adams by the way.” She started to run her fingers along Oliver’s body, moving his clothing so she’d be able to touch skin. “You may want to look away. This is going to _hurt_ ,” she emphasized the word with a sense of glee and with that warning spoken her nails bit into his naked calf and Oliver’s body contracted and seized in agony as he was pieced back together from the inside out.


	4. The Toothbrush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ARGUS comes calling, as does a peculiar blonde.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while. Apologies. Writing has not come easily or been a priority lately. That should change after the holidays.

This was not how Oliver anticipated his day going; then again he tried not have any kind of positive expectations. The last time he had things had ended badly, as they were wont to in his case, so after being ditched by Tommy he did best to not get attached to anything. Not a city, not a vehicle, certainly not a person though he was rather fond of the hunter green hoodie that he wore pretty religiously. The hoodie’s just beginning to fray sleeve cuffs and thinning material spoke to his preference.

It was good thing that he did not allow himself to get committed seeing how he’d been caught _moving_ dice at a game he frequented that morning. He managed to escape with his meager prize as threats of violent recouping of his prior winnings were shouted at him as he dashed away. Word would soon get out about his less than honest approach and other back alley hosts would soon be after recovering their losses. Though Oliver was economical with his expenses and had always been shrewd about the amounts he won, there was no way he could cover the sum if all his winnings were recalled.

Starling City had been his home for about roughly four months now; meaning the itch to move on to the next place had just started to creep in. He hadn’t stayed anywhere longer than six months since his time in New York. His apartment was more hovel than home that consisted of a single open-concept space of a halfway decent size that squashed the kitchen, living and bedroom area into one space with a postage sized bathroom containing a narrow stall where he had to stoop in order to get his head under the shower-head attached. The exposed brick and pipe was not an industrial chic design choice of the landlord, but rather the result of benign neglect. Still the complex offered Oliver what he craved most: disinterested neighbors and a month-to-month lease that wasn’t completely outrageous.

Anonymity was his greatest asset. It kept him off of ARGUS’s radar in the years since the agency murdered his father. He’d spent his life living on the fringes, relying on the shadows to conceal him from their purview – he thought successfully, but his day only managed to get worse upon returning to his place to find it invaded by two ARGUS agents.

Oliver’s instinct had screamed at him to run the moment he opened his door to find two strangers riffling through his meager possessions, but having been found, he knew that action would land him in the back of a van and confined to some secret ARGUS testing facility or dead. His father hadn’t sacrificed himself for him to succumb to either end, and back in the far reaches of his mind, Oliver remembered his promise; a girl with a flower and his responsibility to help her.

Instead of turning on his heel and booking it for a second time that morning he gritted his teeth and entered the residence he would soon abandon. There was a burly one-eye Sniff groping various objects around his apartment, randomly he’d bring one up close to his face and inhale deeply, taking a deep read of his life. Examining his kitchen area, a look of revulsion on her face at the pile of dirty dishes overflowing in his sink, was a ferocious looking brunette. “Oliver,” she acknowledged his presence, her voice as crisp as her non-nonsense pantsuit.

He leaned on the door’s handle, keeping it open, and tried to project an air of nonchalance. Though Oliver knew the world outside his door was uncaring he couldn’t deny an added sense a safety he felt making their exchange quasi-public. “How’d you find me?”

“Plenty of runaway psychics in Starling,” the man replied, his voice thick with an Australian accent. He took and exaggerated draw on the t-shirt he wore the day before. “Nobody but you here for a while huh?” he baited dropping the shirt to the floor as he ducked into the bathroom.

Ignoring him, Oliver focused on the woman; her dark calculating eyes evaluated him and his space. It was evident to him based on her cold, disdainful look that she found him almost entirely lacking. “Looking for something other than me?” he inquired. Oliver considered adding a sensual overtone to his question but he was certain the attempt would leave him frostbitten.

She stared, unimpressed with him, and answered his question with a simple but unhelpful, “A man.”

“To each their own, but I don’t swing that way,” he remarked with a faked congenial grin.

Her gaze narrowed, everything about her sharpened as she crossed her arms in front of her and took a step towards him. Everything about the agent’s lithe frame and narrow face led him to think her lethal. “You’re not that cute,” she warned, before adding: “This man has something that belongs to us.”

“That’s nice for him,” Oliver replied fighting to keep his voice neutral, “but I can’t help you.”

An artful smile spread slowly across her face. “I have it on good authority that you can.”

He was about to argue with her when her associate stepped out of his bathroom brandishing his toothbrush. “Enough flirting Isabel,” he growled. His counterpart scowled at him and Oliver figured that they must have worked together long enough for the man to become immune to her, because he simply shrugged off her ill temper and waved his toothbrush at him. “In case we need to get a hold of you again,” he said bagging the item and tucking into his jacket pocket.

“Sure you don’t want something else? Some old toilet paper perhaps?” Oliver queried baring his teeth a little.

A barking laugh boomed out of the muscle bound man. He pounded Oliver on his back, harder than necessary. “Don’t bother running kid. You won’t get far.” With that promise, he strode out his door, Isabel hot on his heel.

“Shit!” Oliver seethed, clenching his hand tight on the doorknob – hard enough to make his palm hurt – before he slammed his apartment door shut. He threw his right leg backward, kicking the door with his heel in frustration. He berated himself silently, mashing his teeth together as furiously tried to work out in his head how ARGUS had managed to find him.

How had he screwed up? When had he?

Mind spinning, he didn’t hear the gentle tap on his door, but when the person switched to a hard pound he was pulled from his thoughts. Oliver tensed, momentarily thinking that the ARGUS agents had returned. His read on the pair had been that they preferred the satisfaction of a quick pounce more than the tension of a long play. “Give me minute,” he shouted over his shoulder before taking a deep breath. He inhaled slowly, closing his eyes to block out the world, and exhaled. Feeling marginally better Oliver opened his eyes and swung his door wide open. If his instincts were wrong there was no way he was going to let Isabel and her Aussie sidekick think he was afraid of them.

The petite would-be blonde female, there were so many different color streaks in her hair that it made his eyes hurt, standing before him was an unexpected sight. One that overloaded his senses as she stood in his doorway wearing a charcoal recycle t-shirt underneath a dove grey military style jacket, over a hot pink miniskirt and the part of her shapely legs not covered by her knee-high black army boots were wrapped in multi-color striped leggings.  She tilted her and grinned up at him, her youthful face friendly and open, even though there was faint hint of wariness in her hydrangea blue eyes. His unexpected visitor thrust a still in its packaging neon green toothbrush against his chest. “For you,” she said stepping into his personal space, forcing him to take a fumbling hold of her gift as he stumbled back a step.

She strutted past him, bright and effervescent, making a beeline for his refrigerator. “Is that chicken leg still any good?” she asked with jaunty tone as she began to search through the sparse contents of the fridge. 

Oliver didn’t answer; instead he watched as she sniffed at the meat and made a face, sticking out her tongue in disgust at its scent. “That would be a no then,” she muttered to herself tossing the chicken into the trash while she hip-checked the door to the fridge closed. She turned to face him fully and maintaining her cheerful demeanor said, “I’m Felicity by the way,” as means of introduction. “Felicity Smoak. It’s nice to officially meet you.”


	5. Dazed & Confused

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That guy Oliver knows. The one ARGUS is after. What's up with him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry. So, so sorry for taking forever to get back to this. I should ban myself from trying to do anything in January outside of all the end of quarter and end of year reporting I have to do for the my job -- all those numbers just crush my creative mojo.

Sensations assaulted him, causing him to groan as he rolled on the damp, hard pallet beneath him. The smell of salt and decay was steeped in the air around him and when he opened his eyes the world was a blurry, greasy smear of yellowish light fighting to consume the darkness that surround it. The pounding in his head thrummed through his entire body and if it was not for the discomfort of the cold surface beneath him Tommy would not have strained his taxed body with unnecessary movement.

Still he moved slowly, allowing his surroundings to come into focus. It took a moment for him to recognize the rhythmic lapping of water as the lights he’d seen previously formed into the shapes of buildings. The pieces came together like a puzzle snapping into place, the heavy perfume he first inhaled made sense: he was on a boat, in a harbor … somewhere. The cityscape was not familiar to Tommy, nor was the scarred walls that opened onto the flat deck of the boat he was on.

An unfamiliar figure sat on the stern, his bald head glinting in the light, as he sipped from a steaming cup. The man was aware of his movement, but he paid Tommy no credence as he got to his feet. Though he had no memory of meeting him, Tommy figured the mystery man to be if not friendly at least not a foe, as his things were intact though his wallet was definitely light on cash. An over payment for a stiff bed, he mused.

Figuring to make the most of it, Tommy shuffled towards the sink he’d spotted during his earlier perusal. As he approached it, his grey eyes narrowed on the writing scrawled on the spot pocked mirror hanging precariously over it. The number 4100 and a name, one from his past that that made him hope and hurt in equal measure, Oliver. He stared at the writing, knowing it was his own but not quite believing it.

Confused and angry Tommy twisted the faucet on and splashed some water on his face. The icy temperature of the water cleared the leftover haze from his mind. He’d managed to escape ARGUS, he remember that much, but they’d injected him with something – that could explain the memory lapse. Flicking the tap off his fingers brushed against a pen on the back of the sink before Tommy reached down for the end of his shirt. He patted his face dry with it as he tried to recall how many days it had been since his escape.

The void he found was unsettling. He had no idea how long he’d been out from under ARGUS's thumb. It couldn’t have been too long though as they had to be looking for him – he’d always been good, but that hadn’t stopped ARGUS from finding him before and it wouldn’t stop them now. That thought had Tommy bracing himself against the sink as his heart thundered at the idea of being back in their facility. At once again being a rat in their lab.

His gaze shifted up, once again seeing the message he left himself. Oliver. His best friend. _His brother_. His possible betrayer seeing how ARGUS hadn’t captured him. His stomach turned. That was a mental battle he’d been fighting for years, one that he’d never settled. Did he have that chance now, Tommy wondered as his eyes skimmed over the blue ink letters that made up Oliver’s name.

He grabbed the pen, a blue sharpie from the sink, and quickly rewrote the two things on the mirror.

 ** _4100_**.

 ** _Oliver_**.

It was, without a doubt, his handwriting. A message he left himself. Angered by the vagueness he faced Tommy threw the pen into the skin and stomped out onto the boat’s deck, into the cool night air. He got no reaction from the man on the on stern, causing him to grumble, “Thanks for nothing,” before exiting the boat into the unknown.


	6. Sharp Suits & Killer Heels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity’s words – “This is a bad idea” – rang in his ears as he entered the Jade Dragon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I had some pretty grand plans for this fic once upon a time. Sadly, those plans are gone, but I am going to tie things up with two short chapters. So yay, it will no longer be on hiatus or unfinished.

Felicity’s words – “This is a bad idea” – rang in his ears as he entered the Jade Dragon. Though it wasn’t the height of city’s lunch hour the restaurant was unnaturally empty, except for the two ARGUS agents casually sitting in circular booth in the back finishing up their meal. The sight of the slim African-American woman set him on edge and Oliver had to pause collect himself. **Amanda Waller**. Her face had plagued his nightmares for years and he noted that she had aged some, gracefully, which didn’t seem right to him. No one that ugly on the inside should have such a pleasant exterior; still her features were sharp, hinting at her cold lethality.

Oliver had never seen the brunette man sitting beside her and he found himself grateful for their lack of history. Staying calm while going toe-to-toe with the ARGUS agent responsible for his father’s death was going to be hard enough, adding another face from that day would have made it impossible. He could feel the need for revenge thrumming through him, it was a visceral need, but so much more was on the line than his own desire. He’d happily risk his own life to avenge his father, but if he acted in haste he’d leave Tommy and Felicity exposed. Not to mention the smart mouthed Shadow they’d picked up to shade Tommy. Roy was a pain in the ass, but he didn’t deserve to wind up trapped in ARGUS’s cross-hairs. Nor did Diggle or Lyla deserve blow-back for helping them.

With that reminder Oliver _moved_ the gun he had tucked against the small of his back out into the open.

Her eyes were masked behind a pair of sunglasses, so there was no reading her, but the agent next to her seemed relaxed, even has he resumed his approach. When he stopped just shy of the table Waller smiled up at him, “You should sit,” she said tilting her towards the bench seat across from her. “Food here isn’t half bad.”

When he continued to stand before them, glaring with a dangerous intent and loaded weapon, Waller set her chopsticks down with an annoyed sigh. “This job never allows for a simple meal,” her companion groused as he followed her lead. She titled her head faintly, a sign to her stooge, Oliver was certain before she spoke again.

“Think I don’t know this future?” she asked. His only response was to frown, but Waller carried on as if any reaction from him didn’t matter to her. “I’ve had the best watchers in the world tracking every minute of this little farce Oliver. I can tell you how it ends – you die. You **all** die.” She smiled then, a gruesome self-satisfied smirk. “Guess who lives?”

The answer was implied. She would live. He _surged_ his gun towards her, asking: “You sure about that?”

Waller didn’t flinch. Then again she never did. Instead she remarked, “Tommy is our patient zero. We’re going to create an army, a kind like the world’s never seen before—”

He cut her off with a, “You think I care about your schemes?” The gun _moved_ closer to her seemingly without him directing it. “What you or the government wants to do with us? Watchers or not, it’s not going happen,” Oliver vowed.

“Fuck patriotism then,” she replied giving no care the weapon skimming her head. “Your boy is going to die unless he receives the necessary injections. You won’t find those anywhere but with me. That I’m sure you care about.” Oliver _pressed_ the gun to her temple and still she taunted him, “Has his blood turned black yet? His insides start running out?”

Oliver’s mind flashed to the nose bleed Tommy tried to hide earlier and the gun _nudged_ hard into Waller’s head. “Is he keeping that from you?” she queried, her tone mocking while the rest of her demeanor remained unfazed. “Or maybe your friend just doesn’t trust you anymore.”

White hot rage surged through him, but before Oliver could make a move Waller’s sidekick revealed his powers – he was a fellow Mover – and all hell broke loose.


	7. Umbrella

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I told you to bring an umbrella.”

He felt the cold splattering of water against his body, soaking into his ratty t-shirt and tattered jeans. His closed eyes twitched as drops landed with no rhyme or reason on his freshly bruised face, but Oliver didn't open them as he catalogued the aches coursing through his abused body. He heard light footsteps, they could be friend or foe, but he was too tired to care either way.

There was popping sound followed by a shift in the way the water pinged off the concrete he laid against. A cheerful voiced reprimanded, “I told you to bring an umbrella.”

Oliver smiled. He couldn't help it. Over past few days Felicity Smoak had drawn out that reaction from him without even trying.

Groaning he opened his eyes and took in the kaleidoscope of color that she was -- cheeky grin included. “This isn't rain,” he groaned. The water cascading over them was from the building's sprinkler system.

Felicity shrugged, “I told you I don't always get things right.”

He let loose a soft chuckle as their compatriot came into focus next to her. The usually stoic John Diggle was smirking as he commented, “Man, you're a mess.”

Oliver didn't have a ready retort, but it didn't appear as if Diggle anticipated one as he leaned over to offer him a hand. Help wasn't something he was used to accepting. He learned not to rely on people after he and Tommy got separated. Crazy what few frantic days could change.

Diggle hauled him up with care but his gentleness did not translate to Felicity, who flung herself at him once Oliver regained his feet. Both he and Diggle had to swerve their heads out of the way of the open umbrella as her arms wrapped around him. **Tight**. Oliver flinched slightly which caused Felicity to lessen her grip, but she did not let him go. Instead she rested her head over his heart. He felt her inhale, her breath shaky, as she relaxed against him.

“I'm okay,” he assured her softly, brushing a faint kiss against the top of her head.

She snorted. “Your definition of okay is not satisfactory.” Felicity emphasized her point with quick jab of her finger to his sternum.

Though her touch didn't cause any pain to flair Oliver wheezed out an, “Ouch,” and rubbed where she had poked him.

Diggle muttered something about them being ridiculous under his breath and then less subtly complained about getting wet. Oliver was certain that an innuendo fueled response was coming from Felicity, but she surprised him with a roll of her eyes and a grumbled, “Drama **Queen** ,” before she finally released him. Felicity stayed tuck in next to his side, so he draped an arm over her shoulders to take some of his weight, before snagging the umbrella from her to hold over the two of them.

On their way of the building Oliver asked them about what he’d injected himself with – obviously not the drug Waller had intended to absconded with over their dead bodies – that was safely hidden and they were headed to retrieve it. “Soy sauce,” Diggle answered. He’s immediate response had been, “Gross!” He then smacked his lips and commented on the salty taste in his mouth, causing Felicity to snicker.

She put on a more serious face while Diggle was shifting through the trash bin to get the case. Their friend earned that duty much to his consternation because Felicity claimed to be too short and Oliver winced, playing up his injured status. “Don’t worry about Tommy. I have feeling,” she knocked her head, her own shorthand to tell him she’d _seen_ as much, “we’ll be seeing that troublemaker soon enough.”

That was all the reassurance Oliver needed.


End file.
